


It's All a Machine

by PhelfromGrace



Series: Gears, Flesh, and Home [1]
Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cathartic Smut, Crack Treated Seriously, Dubious Consent, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Light Angst, Loss of Virginity, Sexual Content, Sexual Repression, Some Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:15:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22405576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhelfromGrace/pseuds/PhelfromGrace
Summary: All is fair in sex and war. General Hux would stop at nothing to maintain his reputation and position.  He was certainly not about to lose to some runt from Hays Minor.
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Rose Tico
Series: Gears, Flesh, and Home [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1637278
Comments: 41
Kudos: 143





	1. I.

**Author's Note:**

> My second time writing this pairing. If you’ve read my first GingerRose fic and expected something similar… sorry, I tried something very different this time. This was supposed to be a one-shot, but ended up longer than expected so I split it in half. 
> 
> Tw: mention of rape  
> Tw: dubcon elements (though not gratuitous; it has thematic importance)  
> Please mind the tags and take care. But I do promise, there’s a happy hopeful ending! It ain’t TRoS.

Officer Thaldree arrived late for the arrest. As he landed and disembarked from his GB-134 pursuit craft, his fellow CBMP officers already had the two fugitives stunned and bound. The situation was under control, and all Thaldree contributed was a quick comm to headquarters, requesting a larger craft to transport the troublemakers back to jail. 

He missed all the action. But he wasn’t envious, especially of Officer Atendu who had removed his flight goggles and was clutching his left eye, visibly in pain, muttering curse words and something along the lines of ‘she headbutted me’. Thaldree flashed his glow rod at the unconscious bodies crumpled on the dirt. 

Young, commoner’s clothing, obviously poor. He couldn’t understand why these kids would commit such foolhardy vandalism. The consequences were severe if they couldn’t foot the bill for the damages incurred on a city as lavish as Canto Bight. They must have known what would happen after stealing a racing fathier, let alone the whole herd, not to mention wreaking havoc on the Old Town and all the business the casino lost from the disruptions… 

The man would be sent to forced labour for his entire lifetime, whereas the girl. He shook his head. Pitiful thing would be sent to the brothel.

Their transport craft arrived and Thaldree bent over to haul the girl over his shoulder. (Atendu clearly was not up for the task.) He tried not to think about her fate. He wasn’t responsible. 

He was just doing his job.

**

General Hux of the First Order weaved passed the pageantry of Canto Bight high society with one last goal to his mission: escape with grace. He had accomplished his task, spoke to the right people, sealed the deal and solidified alliances; his presence was no longer required, and yet, he was forced to associate with these vacuous socialites who buried themselves far too deep in the trivial affairs of others, often to create discord. 

Rumours, in this sphere of the galaxy, were the poison that could lead to their demise. One wrong move, one perceived slight, however superficial, and Hux could also fall victim. In these trying times, he acted with utmost prudence, as uncertainty loomed over his position within the First Order after the death of Supreme Leader Snoke and the rise of the abhorrent Kylo Ren. If he maintained his social standing within the elite, he would have allies for the future. He needed to survive, even if it meant partaking in vapid drivel and consuming revolting delicacies that wrenched his stomach. 

The party’s chatter began to dwindle as the distraction of games and gambling ramped up. Many groups broke off to watch the races, and Hux took the opportunity to edge towards the exit of the venue. 

He made it halfway when a meaty hand clapped onto his shoulder. Instinctively, he reached for the dagger hidden in his sleeve, but then stopped, remembering that he was not in uniform. A familiar booming voice rang in his ear. 

A First Order benefactor, he recognised. An ally that he needed to keep in good graces.

“Armitage! Retiring already?” the portly man asked, chuckling heartily. 

The stench of perfume and alcohol assaulted his senses, but his face remained poise. “Regretfully. While I would like nothing more than to carry on the evening, I must return to the Order early tomorrow.”

“Well, my boy, the evening ain’t over for you yet! I have a gift for you, already delivered to your suite. The finest little lass, feisty, _untouched_ — she’s been checked, I guarantee.” The man winked. “Just a little token of gratitude. Use her well and report back. I want the full details.” He laughed again, and Hux kept his expression disciplined, in control.

He smirked and thanked the man for his most _generous_ gift. 

It took every shred of will-power not to sully the alabaster floors with vomit and bile. 

**

Hux stormed into the dark hotel suite, ignoring any signs of lifeforms and heading straight for the lavatory to expel rich foods and general malaise. He then washed his mouth and hands, cleansing away both vile taste and filthy touch from his skin. 

He idly stared at his reflection in the mirror— dead blue eyes and pallid complexion, a ginger strand had come undone from his primly slicked-back hair. Instinctively, he attempted to force it back into place, but the stray would not behave. His arm dropped to his side, giving up. Such effort was pointless when there was no more audience to impress for the night. He exited the lavatory.

The pneumatic door automatically closed as he walked into the darkness of the bedroom. 

“Have they provided you with spice?” he asked into the void.

“No,” answered a small voice, feminine and delicate. It came from across the room.

“How generous of them.” 

Hux cursed inwardly. Those lechers wanted this girl to feel it, to be fully conscious for the violation, which disgusted him to no end. But he kept his thoughts focused on the greater picture, and carried along with his neutral act.

He activated the lighting, which dimly illuminated the space and revealed a body, a female human, sitting by the edge of the bed with her head down. She wore an indecently short and sheer dress that he could only describe as undergarments, particularly useless ones might he add. It left little to the imagination, not that he cared to wonder. She was small, her feet barely touched the ground, with an ample bosom. He took a few steps forwards, and she raised her head. 

It wasn’t a remarkable face. Youthful, with rounded cheeks and soft features. Her deep brown eyes, however, reflected a maturity only age could bring. They also spoke a language that he recognised all too well: defiance, disdain, judgment. She clearly didn’t want to be here, and she blamed him for it, as if it was his fault. Those eyes told him that he was a monster, cruel and lecherous. _Like his father._

“If you think that I derive pleasure from this sort of power play, you are mistaken.” 

“So… you’re not going to touch me?”

“I’m afraid that is not the case.”

“But you just said—”

“Nevermind what I said.” 

Hux composed himself. He removed his dress jacket and draped it neatly over the armrest of the sofa across from her. He took a seat, stretching an arm over the back cushions to appear casual, in control. “Come, girl.” He patted his lap. “Sit.”

She shot him a glare so ferocious that he nearly flinched. 

Insolent runt. She had no idea who she was dealing with. His lips curled up in a smirk, keeping up the facade of nonchalance despite his tense muscles. He was a patient man, she would soon come to understand.

But if she kept up with this attitude and resisted at every step of the way, well, he’d rather not think about the outcome. Brute force was an exhausting affair, unworthy of his efforts. He wondered if it was too late to hire some drunken vagabond off the streets to act in his stead. 

To his relief, the girl began to comply. 

She crossed the distance from the bed to the sofa, death glare never wavering. His smirk became genuine when she was standing in front of him, at her full unimpressive height. Their eyes were nearly level even though he was seated. She really was nothing but a runt.

He patted his lap once more. “Sit.”

Again, to his utter astonishment, she complied. 

Except, not in the way that he expected: she climbed onto his lap and straddled him, pressing her bare crotch onto his, vigorously. He jerked back from the sudden contact, bucking his hips in an attempt to push her off, but she had a firm grasp of his shoulders and held herself in place. 

“Unhand me and t-turn around!” he shouted, feeling the heat rise to his ears. 

She stifled a chuckle as she obeyed, pivoting and re-positioning her legs to sit up properly, her back to him. 

“The brothel ought to have trained you proper etiquette,” he stated, as calmly as possible, ignoring the uncomfortable heat still felt in his cheeks. “It’s unbecoming of a _lady_ to leap straight for the jugular, so to speak.” 

He put a hand on her bare thigh, casually rubbing circles with his thumb. Underneath that soft skin, there was dense muscle. She was no delicate flower. “Order applies everywhere, even in the bedroom.”

He leaned in and kissed her neck. Her body tensed, much to his annoyance. He hated pressing his lips against anything or anyone, and this occasion was no different. The tender action should have relaxed her— he was being gentle, to the best of his abilities, and this ingrate had the gall to reject his advances.

“Would you at least pretend to tolerate my presence?”

“Would _you?”_ she countered. “Doesn’t seem like you’re that into it either.”

She gave him a side-eye glance, filled with disdain. 

Undeterred, he continued to pepper the back of her neck with kisses. She didn’t smell half bad, pleasant even, nothing like the terrible overbearing perfumes of high society. Just a clean scent. As far as surfaces in which Armitage Hux’s lips have touched, he admitted that he might have been too quick to judge. This was not the worst. It could even be considered better than average.

He slipped the flimsy straps of her dress off her shoulders and pulled the garment down to her waist. Her arms were quick to cover her breasts, a pointless action when all he could see was her bruise-covered back. She must have fought a lot to sustain all those injuries. It explained why there was so much fight in her eyes, but none in her body— she physically couldn’t take more hits. He traced a finger over some red scars, and grazed over a particularly large purple bruise, likely fresh. She flinched.

He almost pitied her, but then he reminded himself that she received those beatings for a reason. He was also beaten for a reason. It only made him stronger. 

“General, you didn’t ask for this any more than I did. You don’t _want_ this.”

“Do not question my intentions, girl. Are you not receiving compensation for this work?”

“Of course not. I’m a prisoner, a slave.”

“A criminal then. Your liberty was stripped the moment you chose to commit whatever crime put you in your current predicament— I know Canto Bight, they do not pluck citizens off the streets and enslave them at their whims—”

“And the children?” she interrupted. “Those poor kids, whipped and sleeping in fathier stables. What could they have done to deserve that?”

“Likely sold by their parents. I never implied this town was righteous. Let them enjoy their short-lived independence and exploitation. Once the First Order takes control of the entire galaxy, barbaric practices such as slavery will be outlawed.”

“Only to be enslaved by the First Order instead? Stealing children and brainwashing them into stormtroopers.” 

“Do not speak of matters that are above you! Know your place, you backward lowly slave.”

“Excuse me? I am _not_ some stupid slave. _Kriff_ , I’m a flight engineer, spent my whole life studying starship specs and engines… only to land me here, with some scumsack who assumes everyone is an idiot with no talent.”

Hux barely registered the insult, too focused on the former half of her speech. _An engineer?_

“You know starship engines,” he mused. “Even, let’s say, a Resurgent-class Star Destroyer’s?”

“Eleven. Three large KDY Destroyer Ion engines and eight smaller Gemon-8s, powered by a single large III-a1a primary hypermatter-annihilation reactor. The engines also require a subsidiary reactor, reactant silos, and isotope contain—” 

She stopped. 

“Yes. Go on,” he prodded.

“Actually, I’m just _very good_ at memorization. But umm, can’t quite remember where I even read those specs…”

“The First Order is always in need of engineers. If you would like to join, it can be arranged.”

“No, you see, I umm— I lied. Engineer?” She cackled forcefully. “That was a _lie_ , trying to make myself look smart. You’re right, I’m just a petty criminal, a _lowly_ slave. Certainly not a flight engineer, nothing, not even a mechanic, or… yeah, you get my point—” 

He certainly did. She was a flight engineer, probably a good creative one, and definitely a mechanic too.

“— I’m just gonna stop talking now,” she finished in a small voice.

Hux relaxed for the first time in the evening. He found a way out of this nonsense situation.

“Criminal, slave, engineer. Regardless of your status, you remain untouched, a fact that will not be loss on your next medical visit when the results remain unchanged. Rumours spread in Canto Bight, especially among the upper echelon. I can’t have my reputation compromised.”

“What are you talking about? Hang on, if I wasn’t a virgin…”

“The evening would have been over the moment I stepped foot into this suite. I would have bribed you and be done with it.”

“You can still bribe me. I won’t tell anyone anything.”

“Did you not hear what I just said? Your medical examination would speak otherwise.”

She slid off his lap and turned to face him. As she stood up straight, the half-stripped dress around her waist fell to her ankles. Arms akimbo, she no longer covered her breasts and did not care for her sudden nudity. She simply looked furious.

“Just because I’m a virgin, you need to _rape_ me? To make sure there’s no physical evidence? You’re willing to stoop that low, for your reputation? That is such a pathetic, _weak_ excuse.” 

“Girl, do not test my patience.”

“My name is Rose,” she said fiercely, then cursed under her breath as she looked away. She must have revealed her real name; her clumsy honesty knew no bounds. 

He stood up, using his height as intimidation. She took one step backwards.

“I can buy your freedom from the brothel if you decide to join the engineering ranks of the First Order.”

“I’m not an engineer, remember?”

He shook his head. This girl was tenacious. “The choice is yours. Join the First Order or lose your chastity.”

“What a garbage dilemma. If the First Order is so great and merciful, how about you just buy my freedom and let me go?”

He circled around and stopped behind her, bending over to lean right next to her ear. “Mercy does not equate charity, _Rose,”_ he gently said. He heard her breath hitch. 

She was nervous and it fuelled his confidence. He touched her side, lingered on the warm smooth skin, then reached for her breast, cupping the soft flesh and playing with her nipple between his fingers. She sighed, suggestively. She must be rather sensitive there. “You enjoy this.”

“I-I don’t.”

He continued to caress her. Again, she let out a deep breath, alluring and erotic. “You’re a terrible liar.”

“It’s a natural response. I have no control.”

“The First Order can teach you discipline.”

“I rather _die_ than join your evil cause.”

“Is that your final answer?”

She didn’t respond and he grew tired of the banter. He needed to raise the stakes, to make her understand that recruitment was the best and only option.

In one fell swoop, he picked her up and placed her on his lap as he sat down on the sofa.

His hand glided across the smooth thigh, over her hip bone, and onto her crotch. He touched her outer folds that were immaculately clean shaven. Quite appalling the lengths in which the brothel took to infantilize her, but at least it served a purpose; the lack of hair rendered her hyper-sensitive. She reacted to the slightest of touches, letting out more breathy sighs. 

“Do you agree to this?” He ran a tentative finger between her folds. She was already warm and wet. “How fascinating. Your body certainly agrees.”

“It’s just a natural reaction. But I guess a machine like you wouldn’t understand.”

The insult rolled off him. “Give me your answer.” 

He played with her while he waited. She spoke no words, only moans as he grew bolder with his strokes. Her body completely relaxed into him while the moisture collected at his fingertips. Curiously, it wasn’t disagreeable. Neither was the warmth. He remained mildly entranced by the high-pitched sounds her voice made. 

She grabbed his wrist and guided his fingers towards the spot where she most wanted to be touched. With his other hand, he fondled her breasts, teasing those perky sensitive nipples. The combination sent her reeling. She released a notably loud moan. He knew what it meant.

A woman’s climax. It had been a long time since he witnessed one. 

Pleasure was evident on her face, and yet, tears streamed down her cheeks. _Humiliation, undoubtedly._

“Take this as a warning, a sample of how you will spend the rest of your life as a filthy little whore.” He removed himself from her limp body. “You would be wise to pick the correct choice.”

He took his leave, perfect posture and hands clasped behind his back, like a distinguished General of the First Order. 

**

His hand slapped onto the lavatory wall as he leaned for support, his knees strangely weak and threatening to buckle. He took a few deep measured breaths, and righted his stance. What was suddenly wrong with him? His clothes felt too tight and the small chamber seemed stifling hot. 

Hux stripped off his cravat and shirt, which did little to reduce the heat. As he fiddled with the fasteners of his trousers, he registered a sharp pain in his groin. He looked down. A massive bulge had emerged at some point, he didn’t know when or how. 

He removed the remainder of his clothing, wincing at the friction of fabric against his swollen cock; it ached, but there was nothing that he could do to alleviate the pain. Stroking never proved effective. Tension could only be relieved through prostate stimulation, preferably using a handheld device which was not at his disposal. The best course of action was to let it subside on its own accord. He had no intention of using it to penetrate the girl. He was not like his father.

Her pleasured face flashed in his mind.

The body was a machine, not of metal and gears, but of muscles and nerves, fundamentally wired to respond to its primal urges. Only through discipline could one exercise their will, gain control of the machine. There lay the difference: she had no discipline, whereas he had a lifetime of training. She was a slave to her body, he was not.

He peered down at his straining erection. Well, even the best-trained user committed the occasional error. 

He entered the shower stall, adjusted the water temperature, and activated the jets. 

Recruitment was no longer his responsibility, he had higher priorities, but he could never turn a blind eye towards a potential engineer. She tried to cover up her slip of tongue, perhaps because she was hiding something else, he had no idea. He would figure it out, in time. Without question, she would surrender herself to the First Order after the humiliation— she would have a great career, maybe climb up the ranks, become a powerful ally. Although, she was honest to a fault and seemed to have a penchant for disrespecting authority. If—no, _when_ she joined, he would monitor her closely and discipline her personally.

He exited the shower and toweled himself dry. To his dismay, the erection did not die— it only grew in strength. He threw on a robe to obscure the problem. She didn’t need to see the extent in which she had roused him.

**

Hux returned to the bedroom to find her sitting on the sofa, naked but confident. Her tears were gone, and her expression, resolute.

“Have I given you enough time to ponder?” 

Instead of knowing her place and answering from a safe distance, the insolent runt stretched to her unimpressive height and marched straight towards him, until she was standing right under his nose. Her intensity made him forget that he was looking down at her.

“I will _never_ join the First Order,” she nearly spat, then grabbed the collar of the robe and forced his lips onto hers. 

The contact, only for the briefest of seconds, burned like the fiery pits of Mustafar. He shoved her away, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“You ill-bred harlot! There should be no contest!”

“You’re right. The choice is easy. Giving up my body is nothing compared to living with the guilt, the _shame,_ of supporting an organization founded on exploitation and oppression.” 

“I’ll show _you_ shame.”

He picked her up, remarking how conveniently petite she was, and threw her on the bed. Her limbs splayed over the mattress, a truly compromising position, as he hovered above; her confidence however did not falter which only further fuelled his rage. 

Her eyes judged him, moving from his disheveled hair, down to his skinny pale chest exposed by the slackened robe— she smiled. She was mocking him, underestimating him. How could she feel so confident, when she was the one lying naked, helpless, below him. 

“Do you realise who I am?” he growled into her ear. He wasted no time and massaged her clit. She was still wet and loosened up from the previous orgasm. “I am not just _any_ general of the First Order.”

His touch surely distracted her, as she did not seem to care for his speech. He removed his hand from her wanton flesh, effectively catching her attention. “Tell me, Rose. Where do you come from?”

“Hays Minor,” she answered without missing a beat. _How naive._

“Ah, the Otomok system? That brings back memories. I am nothing but grateful towards the inhabitants of that squalor— such useful resources their planets gifted to the First Order, pity they depleted so quickly.”

Any glee she might have felt vanished from her face. She fell for his taunt, as expected. “Let me press upon you once more. Join the engineering ranks of the First Order. You will be well-compensated, well-respected. And most important of all, you will be free.”

“I’d rather die.”

He sighed, and backed up to untie the sash of his robe. The cloth draped to his sides, revealing his massive erection. “After my recount of the Otomok system, knowing that I was involved in the exploit, however peripherally, you remain undeterred. Are you seriously prepared to bed with such a callous man?”

“Do your worst, filthy prick.”


	2. II.

The girl, blatantly, asked for it. She left him no choice. 

He positioned himself at her entrance, and carefully pushed in. He was no brute, he’d take her with utmost caution to avoid unnecessary pain for the both of them. He was doing this to dispel any possible rumours of being an ingrate, to maintain good relations with a benefactor of the First Order, nothing more. 

He slid in and out superficially, allowing her muscles to adjust to the sensation, then conquered her like a tedious war of attrition, wearing her down gradually until her barrier broke and allowed him access.

Her compliance was baffling. She should have fought him with the ferocity that he knew she possessed, but instead, she held onto his back and began matching his thrusts.

It started to feel… good. And immediately, he felt repulsed. Filthy, like the vermin that he condemned. He would not allow himself a drop of satisfaction, of pleasure, in such a depraved act. He was a general. He commanded armies. His troops respected him. He was above this. He was not, _just like his father._

“That’s enough,” he announced, pulling out but still hovering over her body. 

His aching cock, unbearably hard, dripped with her arousal. Sweat clung to his skin and the need for another shower became dire, but his discomfort could not be scrubbed raw, rinsed down the drain and washed away so easily. It ran deeper, far beyond the physical. It was shame.

When he looked into her eyes, he expected her to appear relieved that the deed was over, to shove him aside, curl herself up protectively and curse him to oblivion. Instead, her face contorted into murderous rage, unlike ever before. 

Grief through anger, he should have expected it in hindsight. He understood the sentiment.

When she tackled and pinned him down onto the mattress, he did not fight back. When she mounted him, he did not push her off. When she assaulted him with punches on his chest, albeit weak, he accepted every blow. He granted her time to grieve because it was well-founded, justified, retaliation. Normal protocol for overstepping boundaries. But when she spoke, he was thrown off-kilter.

“That’s it? After all that talk, the authority, the taunts? That’s _all_ the damage you can do?!” 

He suddenly registered the warmth and moisture pooling over his belly, where she straddled him. There was a flaw in his interpretation… 

“Kriffin’ pussyfooting waif. What did I expect. You’re nothing but a delusional mouthpiece for that sithspawn organization.”

She gripped his cock, no doubt with the hands of a mechanic, rough yet nimble. “You think you’re free? Just because you hold all the power, the resources, the might of technology and influence. You’re not free. You’re just a slave to the system, to the machine of the First Order.”

She teased his cock, slipping just the head between wet folds. 

“What in the flying Force did they do to your baby brain? And here I thought Finn was bad, clueless to my obvious interest— you’re even worse. You can’t even acknowledge your own desires, acting as if you weren’t hard as beskar the moment I sat on your lap. Still are, by the way. And I’m gonna take advantage of it.”

Playing with the angle, she failed several times to place it completely in, but she persisted. Her firm grip alone sent his mind elsewhere. She was still talking, berating him. How could she be so coherent, and have so much control over her mind and body? He could barely concentrate on the sound of her voice.

“—stuck in this dirthole, been fighting against all odds, fending off predators for _weeks_. Statistically, I can’t stay this lucky. You may be an insufferable scumsack but you’re human and young, maybe a little cute when your hair’s down, and _kriff_ you’ve got stamina— if I’m gonna lose it, rather human scum, than some wrinkly Crolute or worse, a slimy Hutt. Where’s the _shame_ in that?!”

She finally found the correct angle and pushed herself further, half deep, but still held the base. He tried to decipher her vernacular. _Maybe a little cute? Stamina?_

“— jail me, beat me, force me into a lifetime of servitude, but they can never control my thoughts, my feelings, my _will_. If I wanna blow off steam with the pretty-eyed bastard, I will. No one gets to decide my pleasure but _me!”_

At last, she sunk into him completely, releasing her hand but clutching him just as tight between her walls. His eyes rolled back. He had been inside her moments prior, but this time felt entirely different. 

She held onto his shoulders for support as she drove into him, adjusting to the position and getting into a comfortable rhythm. He watched, mesmerized, by the physics of her breasts bouncing.

“Don’t get me wrong. I hate you, General Hux of the First Order. I hate your actions, what you’re responsible for, what you represent and what you did, what you continue to do, to planets just like mine.” 

She pulled out and rammed into him, hard. 

“But I refuse… to fight… what I hate,” she said between laboured breaths, mercilessly thrusting and tugging. “It only leads to more suffering. It won’t break the cycle. I’ll save what I can from this garbage situation because that’s how we get through life, by seeing the light when there’s nothing but darkness. That’s how we _win_.”

His head was spinning. She looked divine, glistening golden skin, towering above him like she was a queen on a throne, and he, the dirt beneath.

“I know of General Hux, I hate him with all my core, but I don’t know the man, the person behind the uniform. His family, his planet, his childhood memories, his beliefs. Is he a victim of the war machine, like Finn? I don’t know. I don’t know any of these things.” 

_Weak-willed boy… Thin as a slip of paper and just as useless._

“I hate having these questions, that I even care to think about the monster controlling the machine that stripped my planet, destroyed my home, killed my family, my _sister_ —” Tears ran down her face, but she did not stop pounding into him, did not relent, despite the clear pain and frustration that was screaming through her reckless behaviour. 

This girl was chaos incarnate. Utterly terrifying. She was going to tear something, and it would hurt more than the bruises on her back. 

He timidly placed his hands on her hips, palming the soft flesh of her buttocks, guiding her body to a gentler pace. There was an unfamiliar pinch in his heart, as he stared into her deep woeful eyes. His touch seemed to have calmed her. 

She slowed down, eventually grinding to a halt and bending forward; her breasts met his chest as she pressed herself into him. Face falling into the crook of his neck, she let out a muffled sob, soaking his skin with her sorrow. 

Armitage Hux had never experienced such absurdity. 

Never, in his thirty-four standard years of existence, had anyone cried on his shoulder, let alone a girl who held his cock hostage.

His mind blanked, unable to process the correct course of action, but something inside of him reacted on instinct. Thin arms enlaced her small frame, pulling her into a tight protective hug. She did not flinch or push away from his grasp; instead she eased into his scrawny chest. She accepted his comfort, him, the monster responsible for the death of her family. 

When her crying subsided, she turned her head to face him, but he kept his gaze firm to the ceiling. 

Hot breath tickled his ear. “I don’t know who you are. I don’t even know your first name. If we keep on stripping people of their humanity, reducing them to titles, ideas, things— just another gear in the machine, easily removed and replaced— this war will never end.” 

She lifted herself up into a seated position, and cupped his jaw with both hands to force his gaze into hers. “What do _you_ want out of this war? Not the general, but—”

“Armitage,” he said without thinking. “My name is Armitage.”

“Armitage,” she repeated. “Armitage Hux from…”

“Arkanis. Born out of wedlock from Commandant Brendol Hux and his kitchen servant. On a dreadful planet where the rains never cease, or so I’m told. I hold little memories of that place.”

She nodded and placed her hands on his chest. Her hips resumed movement. She rocked into him at a soothing almost hypnotic pace. 

He was entranced. He didn’t believe in sorcery, that archaic useless nonsense, but this experience could only be described as enchantment. She said no words, did not prompt him to speak, and yet, his voice filled her silence as if possessed by a spirit. 

He didn’t reveal what he wanted out of the war. Instead, he divulged information, personal facts, that had been carefully stowed in the deepest recesses of his mind. About the beatings, about the nightmares. How it still hurt, but he trained himself well, to stamp it out, to never let it affect his judgment. Pain was nothing but a perception, a response born out of one’s mind. All he needed was more discipline, to control his brain and body. He just _needed._

She cried, for the second time. For _him._ Tears ran down her serene face, as she listened and touched his chest, caressing the scars that marred his pale skin, that so few people had been privy to.

He didn’t need her pity, but he had no energy to push her away. He watched her, sniffling while gently rolling her hips, embracing his erection like it belonged to her, like she was accepting this filthy undeserving mess of a person. 

She looked so comfortable in her skin, in this bizarre frightening scenario. She had no walls, no defense, no protection against outsiders. She was exceptionally foolish, naive, and too honest. But as he laid immobile beneath her lively frame, he finally saw it. Without any walls, she had no reason to feel constrained. She had the freedom to scream, to cry, to openly take pleasure— she showed it all, naked, chaotic but free. 

Meanwhile, he had impenetrable defense, durasteel walls so high and thick that it impeded all movement. He was caged, rendered stiff, always stiff, unable to cry out to the world outside the protective layers that he had built. This useless body, this machine that wouldn’t bend to his will. He couldn’t push her away, he couldn’t stop himself from revealing so many damning secrets, he couldn’t even release the tension in his groin… He wanted it to end. He wanted the pain to disappear. He wanted…

_Freedom._

And then, he realised. There was a will behind the machine, and not the one that he thought was in control. He had been directing the machine from above, not from within. He had been nothing but a general in a command shuttle, barking orders from the sidelines, ordering each craft to open fire. However, inside each one of those crafts, a human controlled its fate. They could obey orders and carry out the will of their general. Or they could choose to open fire on the command shuttle. 

Tomorrow might bring a different day, a different conclusion; he could not predict the future. But in this moment, at least for one night, with this vivacious girl bounding on his hips… he chose to open fire, on the command shuttle. 

He pronounced the General dead.

Locking her securely in his arms, he rolled over their joined bodies to flip their position. She gasped at the surprising reversal, eyes wide and mouth agape. He searched her face, suddenly noticing the pretty deep-brown of her irises, her endearingly small nose, her inviting pink lips.

“May I do my worst?” he pleaded.

“B-Be my guest.”

He did not hesitate and simply acted on first impulse. He leaned down and kissed her. 

He hated pressing his lips against anything or anyone, but not with this girl. Rose was different. 

Every detail that engulfed his senses now registered, not as fact, but as feeling. The softness of her skin as he cupped her small face. The hot exhale from her tiny nose that warmed the tip of his. The plush lips, wet, as her tongue slipped into his mouth, and as he returned the favour. The kiss sent tingles to the back of his head and he yearned for more; he was a starved man and he wanted to consume her, touch her everywhere, lick up every morsel, and bank the memories before the mirage disappeared. 

His lips craved every area of her golden skin. He tasted her neck, nose grazing along her windpipe that let out soft feminine whimpers and that begged for him, Armitage. Her scent intoxicated him, as he nuzzled behind her ear, nipping at the lobe, relishing in the way she vocalised her delight. He wondered how her silky black hair would feel between his fingers, but he did not dare attempt to untie her elaborately styled tresses. He settled on her fringe, pushing back the damp hair to place a kiss on her forehead, then her eyebrow, then her nose, and back to her lips.

His hips moved naturally to the beat of his uncontrollable heart, as he desperately kissed, thrust and reached into her deeply, thoroughly. Pleasure coursed throughout his body, to parts that had eluded his prior awareness, and he let it spread, finally allowing himself to feel the intensity of its frenetic energy, to finally feel good. 

He backed up to get a whole view from above, of her pretty face and the swell of her chest, panting. She was looking down, watching where they were joined as he continued to move into her. Although he couldn’t see what she saw, he felt the lust in her half-lidded eyes staring at his cock inside of her, bearing witness to the magnitude of his desire, how much he wanted her, and how he got what he wanted. He possessed her.

There was no time for shame or doubts. He embraced this chaos incarnate, as she clung to his equal mess. Only for a fleeting moment did he think about the awful lanky, jutting angles of his body that contrasted with the lovely healthy fullness of her small limbs. But his insecurities immediately vanished as she devoured all those parts that he hated about himself, with touches and kisses that healed every wound.

Her sopping desire made everything easier. He could move as he pleased, sliding in and out without barrier, without friction, just a slick tight squeeze that kept him begging for more. She held onto him, just as tight, raking her short fingernails over his back. The scratches felt exhilarating—he’d tell her to dig deeper, but he couldn’t speak with his mouth full, of her breast and nipple. 

She pulled his hair, and bit into the soft tissue by his neck, whether by accident or on purpose, he did not know nor did he care because they were both close, he could sense it. He didn’t want it to end, to let go of this beautiful chaos, but he had no control. 

He vaguely felt the clench of her orgasmic spasms, her loud moan only a distant cry in his ears. He was too distracted by his own staggering orgasm, as he filled her up, touching her one last time and leaving a trace of himself inside her. 

At last, his groin felt relief. He was finally rid of the pain and tension, but the release continued to spiral beyond his expectations. 

An overwhelming rush of emotions swept across his mind and body. He couldn’t describe or process or grasp of any of the disorienting mess. It made him feel everything and nothing at the same time. And all he could do, was cry. 

He pulled out and hugged her close, quickly grabbing the back of her head and placing her into the crook of his neck, to hide her from his tear-stricken face. He thought that she wouldn’t notice, until she began rubbing his back, and then he heard himself. He was sobbing. 

He knew that he was pathetic and weak, yet his feelings curiously spoke otherwise. He somehow felt empowered and triumphant, like he had won. 

After some time, she loosened herself from his clutch and cradled his face, planting kisses to dry his tears, little chaste pecks that tickled his skin. The innocent gesture caused an unfamiliar fluttering in the pit of his stomach, a very strange sensation that was simultaneously uncomfortable and welcomed. He felt the urge to kiss her again, but he held back. 

She laid down next to him, absent-mindedly stroking his hair.

“Kriff, I just had planet-shattering sex with none other than the planet-shattering maniac himself.” 

“It was a star system, not just a planet.” 

“You’re a terrible man, you know that, right?” She chuckled, then cuddled into his side, draping her arm across his chest. “Absolutely the worst rotbag I’ve ever met—and believe me, I’ve met my fair share. But still, thanks. I really mean it. Armitage, thank you for showing me your humanity. It gives me hope.”

He nodded, even though he could not comprehend her sentiment. He should be the one expressing gratitude for all that she has given him this evening. 

“I really do believe,” she continued. “We're going to win this war not by fighting what we hate, but saving what we love.”

He didn’t know what love meant. He only knew that he wanted to press his lips onto hers. And so, he decided not to hold back from the feeling.

He kissed her, and slipped in his tongue for good measure. 

  


**

The gaberwool officer’s greatcoat weighed heavily on General Hux’s shoulders, an additional strain to his already sore muscles. Walking proved to be a difficult challenge, never mind the descent down the seemingly endless entrance steps of Canto Bight’s supposed finest establishment. Nevertheless, the discomfort, stiff uniform and thick gloves were a return to normalcy. Soon, he would be off this blasted planet, back to the controlled environment of the _Finalizer,_ and away from all behaviour-altering distractions that should be kept forever tucked between bedsheets where they belonged.

It wasn’t compassion that possessed him to buy her freedom. No, he did it because his trip to this regrettable place would unfortunately not be his last, and the risk of another chance encounter with the girl was certainly not welcome. Simply, she was bad for his health. His heart and gut had not yet returned to their normal, unperturbed, functional state.

“Armitage!” called a voice in the distance.

His heart nearly leapt out of his chest, but he forced himself to turn around and maintain his stoic facade. The girl now wore a shapeless jumpsuit which hid all her beautiful curves, as one should. She recklessly bounded down the steps, three to four at a time, making her descent in begrudgingly fast timing. Her muscles were clearly not as sore as his.

He observed her while she caught her breath in front of him.

Her face was truly remarkable, full of vitality, sharp and confident. Cantonica’s morning sun further illuminated her radiant complexion, while the brown of her eyes sparkled prettily in the light. But her hair. What an unruly sight. He must have been mad to think that she could ever fit within the ranks of the First Order. 

Having finally restored enough air, she took a step forward to settle right under his nose as she looked up in his eyes, unintimidated and smiling. 

“When I crack all your biohexacrypted codes and smash through your security shields, and put my fist through your war machine, don’t regret saving me. Because when the time comes, I’ll be setting you free!” She tiptoed and grabbed the lapels of his greatcoat, dragging him down to her lips. 

Before he could even attempt to deepen the kiss, she broke the connection. Then, she took hold of his wrist, somehow touching the only bit of bare skin available, and forced an object in his palm. She closed his gloved fingers onto the object, both of her small hands clasping over his fist. Such small hands. 

“I promise,” she said with a smile, then let go of him. The pain in his heart increased.

She escaped from his sight, like it had all been a mirage.

He opened his fist to find a medallion, Haysian smelt, if his assessment was correct. A symbol of Otomok, her homeworld, sacrificed for the First Order. Without a doubt, the girl was trying to remind him of all the associated destruction and suffering, caused by the war machine that she promised to _put her fist through_. But before that, she… why would she require biohexacrypted code cracking and breaking through First Order security shields? The only people foolish enough to attempt— no, that meant Rose was…

“Rebel scum,” he sneered, clenching his fist over the medallion. 

Armitage took a couple of very deep breaths. Eventually, he settled down and pocketed the medallion. He ran a gloved hand through his impeccable slicked-back hair, then returned to his command shuttle.

Unbeknownst to him, a ginger strand had fallen stray from the orderly rest. It dangled on his forehead, shaped like a crescent moon.

  


  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's all a machine... but we have the free-will to take control. -- that's the main theme of this one-shot, which is why I'm leaving it there. BUT I'm starting to have ideas of a continuation to this story. (Hux has a long road to learn love, and I didn't even go into any of Rose's angst lol!)
> 
> Like always, any constructive crit is welcome! I’m still exploring these characters and their dynamics. GingerRose can be interpreted so many ways; it’s great to hear different opinions.
> 
> Oh and, I love Rose’s potty mouth. As the TLJ novelization so lovely put it: “Rose bombarded him with oaths that would have made an Otomok stevedore blush.” ;D


End file.
